


Soft

by battle_cat



Series: Together [12]
Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-18
Updated: 2016-05-18
Packaged: 2018-06-09 06:33:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6893965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/battle_cat/pseuds/battle_cat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She wakes up to his fingers tracing soft patterns over her shoulder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soft

She wakes up to his fingers tracing soft patterns over her shoulder.

It’s very early, the first grey pre-dawn light filtering in through the window. She’s nestled against him in the way they tend to fit together instinctively, her back against his chest, his breath tickling the back of her neck.

They’d managed to put sleep clothes back on after last night’s fucking, but hadn’t made it under the blanket before falling asleep. The cool air makes the warmth of his body pressed all along hers that much more noticeable. His fingers trail idly, circling over the cap of her shoulder, brushing along the old scar from a bullet graze on her bicep.

She snuggles back against him with a contented _hmm_ , to let him know she’s awake. His hand stills.

“…Time is it?” he mumbles.

“Early. Don’t need to get up yet.” 

“Good.” She feels his face nuzzle against her hair.

“Keep doing that,” she mutters with a twitch of her shoulder. “‘S nice.”

His fingers move again, little eddies of sensation against her skin. He scoots closer and his touch trails down her arm, fingers intertwining with hers. He kneads lazily at her palm, working different bits of her hand between thumb and fingers and…it’s so nice. She lets time slide and drift against the steady rhythm of his breathing at her back.

She can’t remember the last time she felt like this, so relaxed and cared for and safe. Their coupling is heated more often than it is tender, flexed muscles and rough breathing and teeth scraping against skin. She knows that language. And she knows too the War Boy way of showing affection with a tackle or a punch in the arm or a playful shove.

But this vocabulary of warmth and comfort and lazy soft touches is different. It tugs at old, old bits of memory. Lying with her head resting on her mother’s thigh while patient fingers worked the windblown knots out of her long hair. Burrowing between warm sleeping bodies under woven blankets on a cold night.

Those memories are too painful if she thinks about them long. She presses back against Max’s body to ground herself in the present. He brushes a soft kiss against the back of her head.

She isn’t sure if she dozes or if she just drifts, but when she next pays attention his hand has stilled and is resting against her stomach. One of his feet is hooked around hers, rough calluses against her insole.

She arches back to see if he’s awake and he’s there with a kiss on her jawbone. She rolls over, nudging him onto his back, and he goes easily, limbs loose with sleep. 

She knows how to make him moan, but now she wants to find the sweet gentle touches that he likes too. She lies half on top of him, her chin resting on his shoulder while her hand roams, tracing hard planes of muscle, skimming over his back as if the upside-down letters in black ink aren’t there at all, sliding down his ribcage.

He makes a tiny noise when her touch turns to light scratches, and so she does that everywhere she can reach, feeling him go deeply still under her, all of the twitchy energy that so often possesses him calmed. He makes a surprised _mmph_ when her nails stroke through his hair.

“Mm?” she inquires.

“Feels good,” he mumbles into the sheets.

She does it again, scratching lightly over his scalp, and gets an unmistakable noise of pleasure. His hair is amazingly soft when it’s not caked with Wasteland grime, and shaggy enough to run her fingers through. She spends an indulgent amount of time playing with it, propped up on the elbow of her half-arm while he sighs contentedly.

At some point he rolls her gently off him, and she lands on her side with her whole arm on top. He turns over to press his forehead against hers, plant little teasing kisses on her nose and cheeks and forehead, a broad, warm hand on the back of her neck.

She slides in to kiss him deeper, not rough and hungry like they tend to end up, but soft brushes of lips and tongue and breath that don’t have to build up to anything. Eventually he turns over on his back and pulls her against him, her head resting on his shoulder and her arm draped over his ribcage. There was a time when she would have gone rigid at the feeling of her half-arm trapped against someone else’s body but…it doesn’t seem to matter now.

His hand rubs over the soft fuzz of her hair, and that’s the way she drifts into sleep again.


End file.
